


sharing beds like little kids

by tesselated



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, University AU, no superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesselated/pseuds/tesselated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky are childhood best friends who get separated when they're thirteen and Steve moves away. Five years later, they see each other at a party.</p><p>++ </p><p>It seemed to Bucky that there had to be a certain all-encompassing awkwardness in going up to the guy you loved best when you were twelve and saying “Hey buddy, remember me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	sharing beds like little kids

**Author's Note:**

> in case you're like me and barely skim tags before jumping into the fic and then get confused 1/3 of the way into it, modern university au with no superpowers!! alright.
> 
> title from lorde's "ribs"

The first time Bucky sees Steve, it’s little league practice.

He’s seven and Steve is the skinny kid in the corner of the makeshift dugout, holding an inhaler in his right hand like it’s an extension of his arm. He’s wearing glasses with thick lenses and there’s something flesh-colored in his ear and Bucky’s first instinct is to avoid him like the plague.

It’s an instinct that’s shared by the rest of the kids, all edging around him like they’ll catch something for the first few practices. Steve throws the ball okay but the coach doesn’t make him run like the rest of them, which Bucky thinks is kind of a good idea. He doesn’t really look like he can run, coughing every time someone kicks dust up. 

He knows Steve’s name because everyone keeps saying it but they don’t actually meet until a couple weeks later. When Bucky tells him his name he expects Steve to laugh like everyone else does (everyone’s always laughed at “Bucky”), but Steve just smiles at him.

That’s when Bucky stops avoiding Steve. 

One day, the big ten-year-old on their team tells Steve that the reason he doesn’t live with his real parents is because they didn’t want him, Bucky hits him so hard that his hand is bruised for a week after. 

That’s when they become friends. 

“I don’t live with my real parents either, y’know.” Bucky says to Steve when he’s dragging Bucky over to someone’s mom to get ice, his eyes rimmed with red. Steve’s grip falters and he turns around with his brow furrowed, like he thinks Bucky’s saying it just to tease him.

“Really. I’m not lying or anything. I got a foster mom.” Bucky says, shrugging. 

“Oh.” Steve says, his expression unreadable. 

They start walking again, and Steve turns and says to him, “Sorry you got your hand busted up.”

Bucky shrugs again, tells Steve it’s not a big deal, because it’s not.

When he gets kicked out of little league for fighting, Steve begs him to tell their coach that Steve was involved too, so he doesn’t have to tell his parents he wants to quit.

They spend the rest of the summer in Steve’s backyard, Steve practicing his pitches and Bucky taking the bases for him. 

++

Steve’s not-parents are different from his not-parents. Steve’s not in foster care like Bucky, he got adopted when he was five by two tall brunette people with enough money to pay for Steve’s hearing aid, his prescriptions and his special circumstances. They always look at Bucky like they feel sorry for him, but they give him sandwiches in the afternoons and sometimes let him stay for dinner. 

Bucky’s not-parents are just his foster mom, and his house isn’t as nice as Steve’s but that’s okay. He figures Steve needs more than he does. He likes his foster mom, and he doesn’t mind the small backyard, really. 

Still, he likes being at Steve’s house. Bucky has friends at school and he usually makes friends with the kids that stay in his house but he’s never had a friend like Steve. 

He’s allergic to everything and he can’t see without his glasses or breathe without his inhaler or hear without his hearing aid and Bucky thinks that’s a lot of things that can go wrong but haven’t. 

“It means something, you know.” He always says and Steve always rolls his eyes.

“It means I’m a hassle.” Steve says one afternoon, throwing one of his crayons at Bucky.

“No, I mean that you’re not dead from all that. It means something.” Bucky insists and Steve rolls his eyes again but gives him a nod. 

“You’re like, really tough.” Bucky says, and Steve laughs but he blushes too.

“I’m not tough, Bucky.” Steve says. His cheeks are still pink.

“Whatever you say.” Bucky says, and he throws the crayon back at Steve.

Sometimes when he spends the night he looks down at Steve (Steve always makes him sleep in his bed, while he takes the floor), asleep and without his glasses and his hearing aid and he almost looks normal, blonde hair and pale skin and freckles from the sun. He almost looks like a regular kid, and Bucky hates it. 

Steve isn’t regular, he knows it. 

No one’s got that much wrong with them and still acts as nice as Steve does; he’s seen a lot of kids with stuff wrong with them and they’re all like him. His foster mom calls it “a little rough around the edges” and it usually means they pick fights, get in trouble, get bad grades sometimes. But Steve’s not like that. He’s not rough anywhere. He won’t even kill bugs. 

A kid like that isn’t regular, he’s better than that. 

In the mornings Steve has to put his glasses and his hearing aid back in so they can watch cartoons and Bucky likes it more like that, with something to distinguish him and Steve. 

++

When they’re eight, Bucky asks him, “So what happened to your parents?”

They’re taking turns playing a game on Steve’s Gameboy and Steve doesn’t stop playing when he says, “My dad died before I was born. My mom got sick when I was three.” 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky says because that’s what you’re supposed to say.

“What about you?” Steve asks. 

“I don’t really know. I’ve been in group homes since I was really little. I think they’re dead too.” Bucky says.

“Oh.” Steve says back. It’s Bucky’s turn to play, so Steve passes him the Gameboy, and they look at each other for a minute.

“I’m really glad we met.” Steve says, and Bucky blushes a little because most people aren’t that honest. 

“Me too.” He says back, still blushing as his fingers press buttons.

++

When they’re in the same sixth grade class, Bucky carries Steve’s emergency inhaler in his back pocket every day and hands it to him before gym class, because Steve used to always forget to bring it in the morning.

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve says in the hallway every day, and every day Bucky punches his arm in response.

He rides the bus home with Steve and stays over til 4, when this foster mom gets off work and comes to pick him up. Sometimes he still stays over for dinner. Steve’s parents like him more now, after Bucky started coming home with the bruises instead of Steve. 

Steve’s mom would make concerned noises and give him an ice pack, a bandaid, an extra ice cream sandwich, but then she’d look at Steve with relief so obvious that Bucky didn’t feel like she was too sorry to see him roughed up. He doesn’t blame her, anyway. He doesn’t look as bad when he’s beat up as Steve does. Steve’s paler than Bucky, and always looks a little better, more put-together. His features are sharp where Bucky’s are broad. Bucky’d never let Steve hear him say it, but Steve looks delicate, almost pretty, like a girl. Bucky’s never looked like that, stout in all the places Steve is slender, his muscles more defined where Steve’s skinny. He can take a black eye better than Steve. 

He joins the baseball team in seventh grade, because he’s good at it and it’s easy, and Steve stays after school to watch his practice every week.

When they’re thirteen, Bucky doesn’t know how it happens, but they end up kissing. They’re lying in the dark, it’s midnight on a Friday night, their sleeping bags are close together on Steve’s basement floor in front of the TV and they kiss the way that thirteen year olds do, dry lips and barely-there.

They both back away blushing, and neither of them say much about it. There’s not much to be said, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t know what good kissing feels like, but he thinks it’s like that.

They don’t talk about it but Bucy thinks about it, thinks about it a lot. Thinks about how he’s supposed to want to kiss girls but he just wants to kiss Steve again. Sometimes he thinks that Steve thinks about it too, the way he’ll blush if Bucky catches him staring at him.

But they don’t talk about it.

A few months later, Steve tells him his parents are moving closer to the city for work. 

“How much closer?” Bucky asks, his heart pounding threateningly. 

“A couple hours.” Steve says, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. He’s quiet and curled up in on himself. 

“Oh.” Bucky says, and then he starts to cry. 

Steve cries too, and they’re both sitting on his bedroom floor, looking at the ground instead of each other while they rub their eyes and sniff furiously, like if they don’t acknowledge it it’s not happening. 

In June he helps Steve pack up his bedroom, and Steve keeps trying to give Bucky some of his stuff. He doesn’t say “to remember me” but Bucky can feel it hanging there. He goes home with a stuffed dog and one of Steve’s books, both of which he’s too old for, but he doesn’t mind. 

Steve’s birthday is the fourth of July and they watch the fireworks in Steve’s backyard like they always have, sitting in the top of the jungle gym. Bucky tries not to think about how this is the last time, and Steve tries not to say it out loud.

The day Steve leaves, they stop by Bucky’s house, his parents’ minivan parked on the street as Steve rings the doorbell. 

Bucky answers it and Steve pushes his glasses up and doesn’t say anything before stepping forward and putting his arms around Bucky. He can feel Steve breathing against him and he relaxes into Steve, his nose in the crook of his neck, his eyes watering. 

Bucky’s taller than him, weighs more, but Bucky always has a hard time remembering. Steve’s got a loud mouth and good posture and Bucky always feels like he’s in the shadow of some kid two feet taller than him. 

Now though, Steve crying quietly against his shoulder, he looks as small as he is. 

Their promises to call and visit are fulfilled through the fall, Bucky staying up late with his cell phone pressed against his ear under the covers, muffling quiet laughter when Steve tells him about his new school. But those kind of things always fall apart, when too much has happened to either of them to be able to recap on the phone, when the money for the train trip is used for other things.

The last time he talks to Steve, it’s Thanksgiving, and Bucky answers his phone the second he sees Steve’s name, like he always has.

“Hi, Buck.” Steve says, and Bucky’s still not used to the way his voice got deeper, how different he sounds.

“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky says, smirking when he hears Steve sigh at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that.” Steve whines, and Bucky laughs.

The line’s silent for a minute and Bucky hopes Steve’s smiling like him. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, thanks. You too. How was your dinner?” Steve asks. 

“It was good. Not as good as your’s, I bet.” Bucky says, sitting down on the couch.

“Shut up.” Steve says, no heat behind it. 

“Make me.” Bucky says like an automatic reflex, like he always has. 

The line’s silent again.

“Sorry I haven’t called in a while.” Steve says.

“Sorry I haven’t either.” Bucky says back.

“I miss you.” Steve says to him in that way he has, all earnest and sincere and making Bucky want to crawl under a blanket. 

“I miss you too. I wish you were here.” Bucky says. He doesn’t finish the sentence he really wants to say, I wish you were here because I don’t have anyone else. He doesn’t need to.

They talk about school and girls and their parents and it’s almost normal, the way they’d talk when Steve first moved. 

Steve says goodbye and Bucky says it back and that’s the last time he hears Steve’s voice for five years.

These things happen, Bucky tells himself whenever his mind wanders to Steve. Friends move away and grow apart.

And really, it’s not like he’s depressed over it, he keeps telling himself. He makes new friends (but none of them are like Steve), gets a few girlfriends (and decides it isn’t for him), even kisses a few boys on purpose (but none of them are like Steve). 

He’s fine.

He spends enough time on school and more than enough time on baseball, and he works two jobs for two years, enough to start paying rent for his own apartment once he’s 18 and can’t bounce between houses anymore. When he’s a senior he gets a call and someone tells him he’s getting a scholarship to a good college and he almost cries.

He goes to school, he lucks out with a single room, he’s independent for the first time, and he’s happy. 

And he hasn’t thought about Steve Rogers in a long time, right up until he sees him across the room at a crowded party in Natasha’s apartment.

++ ++ ++ ++

Bucky’s first instinct was to panic and he didn’t know why.

Actually, his first instinct was to choke on his beer, spluttering helplessly as he tried to make sense of this whole thing. 

It was undeniably Steve, cropped blonde hair and freckles across his nose, his eyes still the same blue. But boy did little Steve Rogers grow up.

He wasn’t sickly skinny anymore, for one. He was still thin, but not like he used to be, like he was about to fall over at any minute. He was about two feet taller than the last time Bucky had seen him, and he had traded in his wire-rimmed glasses for more fashionable ones, the big kind that all the liberal arts majors wore. He still had his hearing aid in, and the sight of it made Bucky feel a little more calm. At least some things don’t change.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Bucky heard someone say behind him, and recognized it as Clint’s voice.

“Something like that.” Bucky muttered, taking another swig of his beer. 

“What, Mr. All-American’s your type?” Clint asked and Bucky choked again.

“You know him?” Bucky asked. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gone over to Steve yet, said something, but he didn’t really know what to say. 

“Not really. He’s Nat’s friend. I think he’s a fine arts major or something.” Clint shrugged, and Bucky grinned despite himself. Steve had always been good at drawing, doodling pictures of whatever Bucky asked him to in the corners of Bucky’s math homework. 

“You want me to get Nat to introduce you?” Clint asked, and Bucky sighed.

“I know him, actually. We, uh, were on the same little league team.” Bucky said. Clint laughed and Bucky grinned at him and he still wasn’t sure what to do. 

It seemed to Bucky that there had to be a certain all-encompassing awkwardness in going up to the guy you loved best when you were twelve and saying “Hey buddy, remember me?” 

So instead he took the easy way out.

Bucky was in the process of trying to sneak out the door of Natasha’s apartment behind a football player when he heard Natasha call “Bucky!” across the room and knew he was toast.

He turned around and saw Natasha waving at him, standing next to a dumbfounded Steve. Steve’s face quickly transformed into a grin, the nervous kind he used to get when teachers would call on him. 

_Oh, I’m fucked,_ Bucky thought to himself.

“Long time no see.” Steve said, his grin getting more genuine the closer Bucky got to them.

“You guys know each other?” Natasha asked, but there was something in her smirk that made Bucky feel like he should find Clint later and punch him. 

“Yeah.” Bucky said, not elaborating. He was looking at Steve instead, the way he grew into his face, the high cheekbones and square jaw that looked out of place when they were in middle school but suited him too well now. He was looking _up_ at Steve, to be precise, and that was weird enough on its own.

Natasha wandered off on false pretenses, looking pleased with herself, and Bucky cursed her mentally. 

“How’ve you been, man?” Bucky asked, grinning at Steve. “You look good.” 

Steve blushed, his cheeks turning pink, and he rocked on the balls of his feet. “Thanks, Buck. I’ve been good. Sorry we never -- well, sorry.” 

Sorry we never stayed close, Bucky guessed he was trying to say. Leave it to Steve to always take the blame for the things both of them did wrong. 

He shrugged. “Life happens.” Bucky said, and Steve smiled at him, a hundred-watt smile that Bucky was sure braces had helped along somewhere in the last five years. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Steve said back. They both sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes before Bucky said, “Well, this is fucking awkward.” 

Steve laughed, almost the same laugh he had before but deeper, and Bucky felt something warm in his stomach. 

“It is. This was really unexpected, I didn’t even know you were here.” Steve said, looking apologetic. 

“Clearly you’ve never been to any baseball games.” Bucky said, and Steve’s eyebrows jumped. He had this big excited smile on, too, when he said, “No shit! You really did it, Buck.” 

“That’s me, living the dream, Stevie.” Bucky said. Steve wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but it was around a smile.

“Don’t call me that. How’d you like it if I started calling you Jimmy?” Steve asked. They were slipping back into an old script and it felt sort of like putting on your most comfortable clothes.

“I wouldn’t.” Bucky responded, true to form.

“So shut up.”

“Make me.” Bucky finished, and Steve was smiling big. 

“Watch your mouth, I actually could now.” Steve threatened, and Bucky snorted.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Rogers. Just ‘cause you don’t look like you’re on your deathbed anymore doesn’t mean you could beat me up.” Bucky said. 

It used to be their unspoken rule that only Bucky could make fun of Steve. Bucky guessed it hadn’t been an issue for him lately, since he didn’t look nearly as sick as he used to. 

Steve’s only response was to flex what little biceps he had, furrowing his brows into what he thought was a menacing look, and Bucky laughed at him. 

“Yo, Steve, let’s get out of here.” A guy said, appearing at Steve’s left. He was taller than Bucky, built and hot, and Bucky stiffened. The weird nostalgic magic that had been there was gone, the ease of conversation halted.

“Oh, hey Sam. What’s up?” Steve asked, looking concerned. 

“I just broke one of Natasha’s weird Russian doll sets and I don’t wanna be here when she realizes.” He said, smirking at Steve. Steve grinned back and Bucky tried not to feel like the odd man out.

For all that had changed, Steve’s bizarre perception skills hadn’t, because he shot Bucky an apologetic smile, like he knew how he felt.

“Sam, this is Bucky Barnes. We grew up together.” Steve said, and Sam gave Steve a meaningful eyebrow raise.

“Good to meet you, Bucky. I’m soon to be a wanted man so I’m getting out of here, you coming?” Sam asked, his hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve looked conflicted, glancing at Bucky and Sam, so Bucky stepped in. “You better help him hide out, Natasha’s ruthless,” He said, grinning at Steve.

“We should hang out sometime.” Steve said, before getting dragged off by Sam.

“Yeah, totally.” Bucky said back, waving him goodbye. 

He ran his hand through his hair again, and was halfway through his next drink when he realized he didn’t have any way to contact Steve. 

That, he decided, was something to think about at another time, so instead he finished his drink and got himself another one and kept repeating the process.

He was shaken up still. He felt like he _had_ seen a ghost, except are ghosts supposed to look better than when you last saw the person alive? Well, better wasn’t exactly the right word. Different. Way different.

He remembered thinking Steve was pretty-looking when they were ten, and thought, _you have no idea_. 

He ended up completely wasted, with Natasha tucking him in on her couch, looking aggravated. But really, it was all her fault, so what room did she have to complain?

He had weird a weird dream about Steve’s old house and woke up with a headache that he felt only was half related to how much he drank.

++

As it turned out, Bucky didn’t have to worry about getting in touch with Steve, because he showed up at Bucky’s next game a week later. 

He didn’t realize till the game was over, when he got a chance to look in the stands and saw Steve, leaned back against the bleachers in school colors, waving at him with a grin. He grinned back despite the fact that the team had just lost -- fall games didn’t matter much anyway, he told himself defensively.

When he emerged from the locker room, in normal clothes and his hair pulled out of the small ponytail he had it in for the game, Steve was standing around shuffling his feet by the exit.

“Hey.” Bucky said, and Steve looked up and grinned. 

“Hey, Buck. You’re good.” Steve said, and Bucky felt his face get hot.

“Thanks. I meant to get your number at Nat’s party.” 

“Yeah, I meant to get yours too. But I wanted to come see you anyway.” Steve shrugged. 

“What’re you doing tonight?” Bucky asked him, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

“I don’t know. What’re you doing right now?” Steve asked him back, and Bucky smiled. 

“Walking back to my dorm.”

“I’ll walk with you, then.” Steve said.

The walk wasn’t exactly awkward, but it was quiet. Bucky wished he had prepared, done a quick google search, like “how do you break the ice with someone you haven’t seen in five years.” 

Instead, he just asked Steve. 

“How do you break the ice with someone you haven’t seen in five years?” 

Steve turned to him and let out a surprised laugh. 

“Well, we could do that thing old friends do where we just talk about the same six memories over and over again until it gets weird.” Steve offered.

“I’ll pass on that one, I think.” Bucky said, and Steve made a noise like he was thinking hard.

“Catch me up on your life.” He said, and Bucky gave him a questioning look.

“Like, if your life was a TV show, do an intro recap voiceover.” Steve said.

“No, that’s too weird,” Bucky said through a laugh.

“Fine, I’ll go first.” Steve said, rolling his eyes with a smile.

Bucky made a “go on” gesture with his hand, and Steve cleared his throat. 

“I started high school, I went through puberty -” 

“I noticed,” Bucky interjected. 

“Thanks. I got good grades -”

“Shocker.”

“Will you stop? Uh, I made friends, I graduated high school, and here I am.” Steve finished.

“See, that was boring, and didn’t actually tell me anything. I had figured you graduated high school, weirdly enough.” Bucky said, rolling his eyes.

“Really? Because I didn’t know about you. I figured it was possible you just conned your way here.” Steve said, knocking his shoulder against Bucky’s. Well, more like his arm into Bucky’s shoulder. He still wasn’t used to Steve being so much taller than him, almost half a foot. 

“What are you studying, anyway?” Bucky asked.

“Art.” Steve said simply, shrugging.

“You were always good with a crayon.” Bucky said.

“Thanks, that means a lot.” Steve deadpanned.

“It will one day. One day you’ll be a famous artist or something and I’ll be the guy selling Steve Rogers originals straight outta third grade.” 

“What’re you studying?” Steve asked instead of responding, but he looked flattered.

“No idea. I just throw balls.” Bucky responded, fishing his key out of his pocket.

“Well, at least you’re good at it.”

Bucky kicked aside some dirty clothes as they walked into his cramped dorm room.

“Welcome.” Bucky said, holding his arms out. 

“I’m honored to have even been invited.” Steve said, hand to his heart like he was gonna recite the pledge of allegiance.

“So how do you know Natasha?” Bucky asked him, setting his bag down and throwing his uniform into his laundry pile. 

“We have a class together, this history requirement. We bonded over the fact that we’re such important artists.” Steve said in a self-deprecating voice. 

“Oh right, I always forget she’s a dance major. Always hard to picture Nat in a tutu.” 

“She’d hit you for that.” Steve said warningly.

“She would. But luckily, it’s just me and you.” Bucky said back. They were standing in the middle of his room with nothing to do but look at each other and it should have been more awkward than it was.

It felt good, bickering with Steve again, like nothing had changed. Weird, but good weird.

“Are we at the part where we can be weirdly honest yet?” Steve asked him, and Bucky nodded.

“I missed you, Buck.” 

The words hung there for a minute and Bucky didn’t know what to do with them. There was a part of him, that thirteen-year-old part that did things without thinking, that wanted to step forward and lean into Steve and hug him the way he used to when one of them said something hard. 

But even if they were at the part where they could be weirdly honest, he didn’t think they were at the part where they could exchange affection like they did in elementary school, where they could pretend their bodies haven’t gotten too big and grown apart for too long for that kind of thing to come natural.

“I missed you too, Steve.” He said back quietly a minute later. 

“Can we be friends?” Steve asked, earnest as ever. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Bucky said, smiling.

From there, it came easy.

It came easy to resume being in each others’ presence in any time they had, to study together, eat dinner together, for Steve to tag along to Bucky’s practices and work on whatever project was due next in the bleachers.

It came easy for their friend groups to blend together, for Sam (Steve’s roommate, Bucky learned) to like Bucky too and for Clint to warm up to Steve, for Natasha to get used to referring to the two of them as one entity. 

It came easy to remember how they fit together, where their elbows and hands went when they were sitting next to each other, the way Bucky’s legs fit over Steve’s knees when he asked Steve to let him nap for fifteen minutes and wake him up because he didn’t want to get off the couch. 

The things they didn’t remember, they learned. He learned where Steve kept his inhaler now, because even though he needed it less often, you never knew. Steve learned to bring Bucky black coffee and egg sandwiches when he was hungover, and Bucky learned that Steve was apparently genetically immune to hangovers, which seemed unfair. 

They learned that if they got drunk together in the right mood, they would just end up sitting on someone else’s couch telling stories they both remembered too well, about the kids Bucky used to beat up for Steve and the time Bucky got out of detention by telling the principal he was an orphan. 

(“It was _true_.” Bucky insisted, his drink sloshing out of the cup while he laughed.

“That doesn’t make it _better_.” Steve yelled through his laughter, his hand on Bucky’s arm.)

He learned Steve’s coffee order and Steve learned what kind of cigarettes Bucky smoked (only occasionally, he promised Steve when he found them in Bucky’s closet, and he was trying to quit, really). Steve glared at him every time he lit one, even though he always stuck his head out the window when he exhaled, but he kept buying Bucky replacement packs and lecturing him about his athletic potential when he handed them over.

It was nice. It was nice to be with someone and feel like no time had passed at all, like they had picked things up right from where they had reluctantly fallen apart. 

Around them, leaves started to fall and the grass started to frost over and Bucky’s fall games finished up. Halloween passed in a blur of candy and alcohol and candy-flavored alcohol. The first snowfall was mid-November, and Sam and Clint tried to go sledding on one inch of snow. 

Steve was going home for Thanksgiving and Bucky was staying in the dorms. He’d been asking Bucky to come home with him all week, and Bucky kept saying no, because. He just didn’t want to, was all. He felt like Steve felt bad for him, and he didn’t want to deal with that now. Or ever.

Steve kept giving him these sad puppydog eyes as he packed an overnight bag, and eventually Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“Relax, Steve. I’m fine.” He said, and Steve furrowed his brow.

“I just wish -- I don’t know.” Steve said, and Bucky shrugged.

“It’s fine. Go home, tell your parents hi for me, eat a good meal, I’m fine.” He said. 

“You could come with me, you know.” Steve said again. Bucky shook his head. There were few things that sounded more awkward than tagging along to a Rogers family Thanksgiving. On top of that, he didn’t need a replacement family, and he didn’t need Steve thinking he did.

Steve just sighed, started to say something else, but Bucky cut him off.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Steve.” He said, and he didn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did. 

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he finished packing his bag quietly, not saying anything else to Bucky. 

Bucky didn’t know the protocol for being in someone else’s place when you did something rude but they were leaving for a while. Did he leave now? Did he leave when Steve left? 

Bucky’s train of thought was interrupted when Steve said abruptly, “I’m not trying to take care of you. I’m just trying to care about you. You deserve that, Bucky, and you don’t have to pretend like you don’t” 

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that, sitting on Steve’s couch with his mouth half-open in what he was sure was a good look for him. Steve just sighed again and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“I gotta go catch this bus. I’ll see you, Bucky.” 

“I -- have a good Thanksgiving, Steve.” Bucky said, and Steve turned back around and gave him a sad smile. 

“Yeah. You too.” 

It was a weird holiday weekend, half because of the stilted goodbye and half because Bucky was one of the only people left on campus. On Thursday night, he ate delivery Chinese in front of the TV with his math tutor, Tony, neither of them talking about why they hadn’t gone home.

He spent Friday and Saturday trying to distract himself at the gym, something he had heard other, better-adjusted people cite as “therapeutic.” Both nights it ended in him thinking about everything he didn’t want to think about, except now he was also sweaty.

Mostly he was trying to avoid thinking about how Steve leaving for three days already felt like he had lost a limb. He felt like it was the summer before high school all over again, doing everything he did to avoid thinking about Steve Rogers. 

On Sunday, Steve Rogers came back on the 4 o’clock bus and found Bucky Barnes sitting on his doorstep.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” Bucky asked. 

Steve laughed and said, “It’s a little weird.”

“Alright, it’s a little weird. I just wanted to say sorry.” Bucky said, shrugging. 

Steve smiled at him, not his full one but enough of one to read like forgiveness.

“I wish you would have come. I hate Thanksgiving.” Steve said, getting his key out. 

“You don’t need your key, Sam’s in.” Bucky said. Steve furrowed his brows.

“Sam’s here and you’re sitting on the doorstep?” 

“Well, it was more dramatic.” Bucky said, and Steve laughed, burying his face in his hands and sitting down next to Bucky.

“That was nice, what you said.” Bucky said, staring at the ground. 

“Yeah. Well. I meant it.” Steve said quietly. He leaned his side against Bucky’s and Bucky felt his face burn.

“Why do you hate Thanksgiving, anyway? You never told me that.” Bucky asked. He grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with an eye roll as Steve glowered at him. He blew the smoke upwind of Steve with a face. 

“It’s just awkward. All that extended brunette family and little blonde me.” Steve said.

Bucky just raised his eyebrows, and Steve sighed.

“I know! This is why I never told you. I know it’s dumb. People got it worse.” Steve said, not looking at him.

“I’ve got it worse, you mean.” Bucky said. 

“Well, yeah, Buck. Sorry. I’m sorry.” Steve said, leaning his shoulder against Bucky’s.

“It’s okay. It’s not like I’m bitter about it. But if you’re gonna feel sorry for me at least make it less obvious.” Bucky said, leaning back against Steve.

“I don’t, really. I don’t feel sorry for you. I just -- you deserve better.” Steve said.

“Thanks.” Bucky said.

Steve just nodded, and they sat there for a minute, their sides pressed together. 

The thing that Bucky never said but always thought was that Steve always deserved to be better off than him anyway.

They went inside eventually, where Sam gave them a weird look but went back to his homework after a minute of meaningful glances with Steve.

Later, when everyone was back, they celebrated with the whiskey Natasha brought back from home and got pleasantly buzzed on Sam and Steve’s couch while they loudly critiqued a Transformers movie because it was on and they were all too lazy to change the channel. They were all squished together, Steve almost in Bucky’s lap, but he didn’t mind much.

Bucky didn’t feel like walking home drunk so he crashed on Steve’s floor, sleeping on the carpet next to his bed like they used to.

“Come home with me for winter break, Buck.” Steve said quietly, his voice only a little slurred. He had a remarkably high tolerance for someone as thin as he was. 

Bucky nodded into his pillow before remembering that they were lying in the dark, and said “Yeah, sure,” out loud. 

The hand hanging off Steve’s bed ended up on top of his on the floor overnight and when he woke up and realized he just buried his face in the pillow.

++

He was hanging around with Tony and Clint sometime mid-December when they both shared a look and then suddenly cleared their throats.

“Oh god, what.” Bucky said without looking up, scrawling notes next to his textbook.

“We were just wondering what was going on between you and Steve.” Clint said.

“Are you guys screwing yet or what?” Tony asked. Clint glared at him.

“Subtle, Tony.” He muttered.

Bucky looked up, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing’s going on between us. We’re friends.” He said, giving them a withering look before returning to his textbook.

“You guys are really touchy-feely is all.” Clint shrugged.

“Yeah, you’re always holding hands and clutching each other.” 

“Tony, shut up.”

“ _You_ shut up, Barton.” 

Bucky looked at them, waiting for them to stop bickering. 

“We grew up together, I don’t know. That’s how we’ve always been.” He said. He shrugged, trying for nonchalant, and returned to his notes. 

“And we do not clutch each other.” He said a minute later. He could feel Tony studying him.

“Were you guys like - did you have a thing? When you were kids?” Tony asked him.

“No, Tony, we did not have a ‘thing’.” Bucky said, using air quotes. 

“Like one of those kid things, where it wasn’t gay because nothing counts under the age of ten.” Tony said matter-of-factly.

“You got some messed up definitions, man.” Bucky told him. 

“Yeah, well, you suck at calculus. None of us are perfect.” Tony replied, scoffing.

“Mature.” Clint commented, before throwing a cheeto at Tony’s glasses. 

++ 

In truth, he and Steve did have a few moments of that weird brand of childhood experimentation, the kind that happens when you’re not sure who you are but you’re sure you like him. 

But Tony and Clint really didn’t need to know that. Bucky didn’t even like that he knew that, that he still thought about it sometimes.

He hadn’t, for years. He’d had new boys to be secret with, to be not-so-secret with when he got older. He hadn’t needed to think about sleepovers with Steve Rogers for years, those moments where their hands touched too long or Bucky looked at him and his stomach flipped. He certainly hadn’t thought about that kiss since sophomore year.

But now he kept thinking about it, whenever they hugged for a beat too long, whenever Steve fell asleep on Bucky’s bed in the middle of doing homework, when he’d take Steve’s glasses off for him and his stomach would flip, just like it used to.

He didn’t like that he still thought about it.

++ 

Steve, Bucky discovered on their trip down to Steve’s house at the end of December, was too tall for buses. 

His legs were cramped against the seat in front of him, knees jammed into the seat. Bucky was both surprised and highly amused, and Steve kept glaring when he would laugh every time Steve tried to rearrange himself. 

“Just sit longways,” Bucky said eventually, sick of seeing Steve trying to spread his legs out evenly in one square foot of leg room. So Steve moved, leaning his back against the window and stretching his legs out over Bucky’s lap. 

He sighed in relief, muttered a thanks to Bucky, and dug his sketchbook out of his bag. Bucky got his calc book out, insistent that he was going to take notes that Tony would be proud of. The next thing he knew, it was dark out, snowing, and Steve was asleep, tucked into the corner of the seat and the window. He must’ve fallen asleep too, he realized, twisting to crack his stiff neck. 

His calc book was open on the fifth page of the chapter, a long pencil mark across his notes, and Bucky sighed before closing the book again. They were close to Steve’s stop anyway. 

He saw Steve’s sketchbook lying abandoned on his lap, and as he was about to turn away he realized that Steve had been drawing him, his mouth slack and eyes closed in an unflattering public transportation nap. 

He rolled his eyes but at the same time he felt his cheeks go hot.

He decided not to think about it. 

++

Steve’s new house was similar to his old one in that everything looked very clean and expensive.

His parents were still the same, maybe a little greyer. They greeted Bucky with as much warmth as they ever did, which was good enough for him. They were letting him stay in their house for three weeks, he figured well-intentioned politeness wasn’t the worst he could be getting.

They had a big Christmas tree in the living room, a real one that made the whole ground floor smell like pine needles. There were already presents under it too, in nice neat wrapping with big bows. Combined with the snow falling outside the windows, it was all so suburban and picturesque that it made Bucky want to laugh.

Steve gave him a sheepish look, like he knew what Bucky was trying not to smirk at, and Bucky felt his face soften.

“Go ahead, say it.” Steve said when they got to his room, which was just as clean and organized as the living room had been. His bed was twice the size of any bed Bucky had ever slept on, his sheets were blue plaid flannel (because of course Steve had flannel sheets), and everything was tucked neatly into storage containers.

“What?” Bucky asked innocently, going through his bag to find his toothbrush.

“Make fun of my house. Use “Norman Rockwell” in there somewhere. Say it.” Steve said. He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, the way he always sat when he was trying to get comfortable. Bucky always thought it was funny, that he still sat like he was 90 pounds and five foot nothing.

“I don’t know who Norman Rockwell is.” Bucky said.

Steve groaned. “Get an education, Bucky.” 

“Fuck you.” Bucky said, laughing. 

Steve closed his eyes and Bucky went back to rifling through his bag.

“Your house is really nice, Steve.” Bucky said a minute later, and Steve smiled, his eyes still closed. 

“Thanks.”

Steve’s mom called him downstairs and it was so familiar that it made Bucky laugh. He wondered if she still made brownies like she used to. While he was gone Bucky snooped around his room, because he felt like he should. 

Steve’s bookshelf was mostly full of the books Bucky remembered half-reading in high school, all boring classics because Steve was boring. At the end were DVDs for a few action movies, a Beatles album, one of those pop music compilation albums, and three Taylor Swift albums.

Steve came back to his room to find Bucky doubled over laughing with a Taylor Swift CD in his hand and he instantly spluttered in indignation.

“You are such an asshole.” He said, grabbing the CD from Bucky’s hand.

“Are you breaking up with me? Are we never ever ever getting back together?” Bucky said through his cackling, and Steve just glared at him.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened.” Bucky said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You are _such_ an asshole.” 

++

It was too late for real dinner so they ordered pizza and ate it on Steve’s floor, with paper plates and napkins and carefully poured cups of soda.

“I feel like I’m twelve.” Bucky said after his second slice, and Steve laughed.

“It’s kind of nice.” Steve said, shrugging, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You’re so sentimental.” Bucky accused, kicking Steve’s leg.

“Sorry, I forgot you were too cool for sentiment.” 

“Alright, Taylor Swift.” Bucky said through a mouthful of pizza. Steve just threw a napkin at him.

“What’s on TV?” Bucky asked, and Steve grabbed the remote and checked.

“Uh, Rudolph, that’s pretty much it.” Steve said.

“Nice.” Bucky said, and Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up.” Bucky muttered, climbing up to Steve’s bed to see the TV better. 

“You shut up.” Steve said back, moving the pizza box to the middle of his bed and sitting next to Bucky.

“Santa’s such an asshole.” Bucky said.

“Yeah.” Steve said back. 

He must’ve passed out just after the island of misfit toys, because he opened his eyes to Steve clearing the pizza box from the bed, wiping the crumbs off the comforter. 

“Hey,” Bucky muttered, voice rough with sleep. When did he get under a blanket? 

“Oh. Hey.” Steve said. He had changed into a Superman shirt and boxers, and Bucky realized he was still taking up his bed. 

“Here, I’ll move -” Bucky said, but Steve made a gesture like he was being stupid.

“Just share with me, I don’t know where any of our extra blankets are anyway.” Steve said. 

“Okay.” Bucky said after a minute, rolling out from under the covers to get out of his jeans.

“If it’s not weird, I mean.” Steve said, as an afterthought.

Bucky shook his head but realized it was useless, since Steve had just taken his glasses off. “No, it’s not weird.” 

He took the spot next to the wall and Steve took the spot next to the nightstand, where his glasses and hearing aid were sitting. 

“Goodnight,” Bucky said to Steve’s good ear.

They fell asleep easily, their arms barely touching where they were lying next to each other. 

When Bucky woke up, Steve’s arm was slung across his chest, his face close to Bucky’s shoulder. There was too-bright sun coming in from behind Steve’s curtains, giving his bedroom that weird soft-lit morning glow. And Steve looked nice, eyelashes against his cheeks like that. 

He was sleepy and warm and for a second all he wanted was to kiss Steve awake, see if he felt as soft as he looked, his edges all blurred in sleep. 

But the second passed and his brain caught up with him and he closed his eyes again instead, hoping he could fall back asleep and not think about it anymore.

++

“You wanna go mess up the fresh snow?” Steve asked him when they were sitting at the kitchen table eating the scrambled eggs that Bucky made.

“Yes.” Bucky said immediately, so they put on three layers of clothing and their biggest winter coats. Steve was wearing one of those hats with the tails coming down from either side and he looked stupid, so Bucky told him so.

“No, you do. Cut your hair, you look like an idiot.” Steve said, putting his gloves on and his inhaler in his pocket.

“Your glasses are trying too hard.”

“You’re currently wearing a winter hat all slouched back on your head so it looks cool. Don’t talk to me about trying too hard.” Steve said. 

They laced up their snow boots and grinned to themselves quietly. 

Outside, Bucky ran in circles on the untouched snow until everything had his footprints in it. Meanwhile, Steve tried to built a snowman, and it was somewhat successful, if a little asymmetrical. 

Steve asked him to help but instead Bucky just threw a snowball at him, and Steve made a surprised squawking noise before retaliating. 

Steve ran for it when he saw Bucky holding five snowballs, and Bucky chased after him mercilessly, until Steve was looking back at Bucky and accidentally crashed into his snowman. Bucky crashed down on top of him and he heard Steve groaning into the ground while the snow slowly seeped through Bucky’s layers. 

“Buck, get _off_.” Steve groaned at him, and Bucky rolled off of him. Steve was laughing, his hair wet where his hat slipped off, his face pink from the cold, and his glasses covered with a layer of melting slush. 

“You fucked up my snowman,” Steve said unhappily, pointing to the carrot that was now lying next to them, as the snowman had been reintegrated into the snow at large. 

“Don’t blame me for the fact that you tripped, man.” Bucky said, shaking the snow out of his hair and putting his hat back on. 

“Okay, fine. But I blame you for falling on top of me.” Steve said.

“That’s fair.” 

“Let’s go inside, I’m freezing.” Steve said, standing up and offering Bucky a hand to pull himself up on.

“Shouldn’t we make hot chocolate or something? Isn’t that traditional?” Bucky asked when they walked in the front door, stripping off their damp layers. 

“Okay, you do that, I’m going to take a shower and regain feeling in my fingers.” Steve said, throwing his coat at Bucky.

“It’s ‘cause you wear stupid fingerless gloves!” Bucky called at him as he walked away. 

Bucky put his hair into a ponytail and changed into dry clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of Steve’s sweatpants after he realized he didn’t bring his own. He stole Steve’s socks, too, and then went to the kitchen and searched for hot chocolate. 

He tried for ten minutes to get the powder melted in mugs he put in the microwave before he gave up and just got a pot out to make it on the stove. He was pouring it into mugs when Steve came into the kitchen, cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt. 

“Nice ponytail.” He said, sitting on top of the counter, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You’re such a jerk.” Bucky said, handing him hot chocolate in an “I heart NY” mug. 

“You like me anyway though.” Steve said smugly.

“I do.” Bucky said back, pouring his own hot chocolate. 

They spent the rest of the day marathoning Star Wars because Steve mentioned he hadn’t seen the original trilogy since he was a kid. They shared a blanket with their legs piled up together and ate three bags of popcorn in the glow of the Christmas tree lights.

“Steve, are you watching? This is the best part.” Bucky said, hitting Steve’s arm. 

On the TV, Han Solo was walking toward the carbon freezer. Princess Leia told him she loved him, and he said he knew.

Steve snorted at him.

“You’re such a sap.” Steve said, and Bucky made an offended noise.

“Shut up and eat your popcorn, Rogers.” He said, kicking Steve under the blanket.

++

The first week of break passed quickly, days spent laying around the house and eating all the food they could find. After Star Wars they did Lord of the Rings (which Bucky had never seen before, and Steve looked offended at that fact; they were pretty good, all in all), and then the Kill Bill movies at Bucky’s suggestion (Steve made him watch four Disney movies he’d never seen after that to make up for the gore). They were filling in each others’ filmographies, taking turns getting outraged at the other’s lack of taste, and it was nice.

After seven days and four bags of chips, six bags of popcorn, and three two-liters of soda, they guiltily got dressed and went to the grocery store to replenish the Rogers family pantry.

“My mom wants me to get eggs.” Steve said, looking at his phone in the cereal aisle.

“Exciting.” Bucky said, throwing Cocoa Puffs into the cart. 

“Very.” Steve said, taking them out and replacing them with Apple Jacks. 

“You’re no fun, Rogers.”

“I’m plenty fun, Barnes.” Steve rolled his eyes, about to push the cart forward before he stopped dead. Bucky followed his line of sight to a pretty brunette girl carrying a shopping basket.

“What’s up?” Bucky asked, but Steve just shook his head, looking weird. 

Bucky guessed he was hoping she wouldn’t see him but she turned their way after a minute and immediately said, “Steve!” 

“Hey, Peggy. Good to see you.” He said, smiling awkwardly. 

“Yeah, you too. You look good.” She said, smiling.

They stood there in silence for a minute before Bucky took it upon himself to say, “Hi, I’m Bucky.”

“Bucky?” She asked. 

He was used to the name thing. “Bucky.” 

“Good to meet you. Um, Steve, I’m having this New Year’s thing, if you’re still gonna be around. Just the same old people. You’re definitely invited.” She said, turning her attention back to Steve immediately. 

“Oh, I don’t know if I have plans or not, but thanks. I’ll definitely try to come.” He said. 

_God, he’s a terrible liar,_ Bucky thought. Peggy didn’t seem to notice. 

After she left, Bucky gave it a solid 30 seconds before he asked, “So who the fuck?” 

Steve sighed. “Peggy Carter, this girl I dated in high school.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “Oh.” 

There was a pause and Steve turned to him and said, “You thought I was gay, didn’t you.” 

“I didn’t think you were anything!” Bucky said defensively. 

“You thought I was gay.” Steve said. 

“We haven’t really talked about it before.” Bucky said, shrugging.

“So you just assumed?” 

“Jesus, I didn’t assume anything. Maybe I was just projecting.” Bucky said. 

“You’re gay?” Steve asked.

“I am. You didn’t know that?” Bucky asked. He thought at this point he gave off a good amount of a vibe.

“Well, I assumed.” Steve admitted.

Bucky gave him a deadpan look.

“Okay, yes, I see what you’re saying.” Steve said, before pushing the cart toward the dairy aisle. 

He knew what they were edging around, that thing they hadn’t talked about since...ever. He didn’t really feel like talking about it now, standing in front of the cream cheese.

“I’m not gay. I’m not straight either.” Steve said a minute later, checking the eggs for cracks. 

“Okay.” Bucky said.

“It’s kind of complicated.” Steve said more quietly. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and gave Bucky a look that was kind of sheepish.

“That’s okay.” Bucky told him. 

“This was a weird conversation to have in the grocery store.” Steve said, turning to him and smiling.

“Yeah, not ideal.” Bucky said, but he smiled back.

“Anyway, I still don’t know why you freaked out about that girl.” He said a minute later and Steve sighed again.

“It’s nothing, really. We dated when we were like sixteen and I was still kind of…”

“Scrawny? Awkward?” Bucky offered. Steve didn’t acknowledge him.

“And then we broke up because, I don’t know, that’s how things happen in high school. And then senior year she threw this party and her friend kind of walked in on me uh, kissing her boyfriend?” Steve said, looking embarrassed as he said it.

“No shit.” Bucky said, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“Not funny. Really not funny.” Steve said, giving him a warning look.

“Why, anything bad happen because of it?” Bucky asked, his smirk gone. 

“I mean, no, but it was really embarrassing.” Steve said, blushing again.

“Was he cute?” Bucky asked. He was smirking again, because yes, this really was funny.

“Well yes, obviously, or I wouldn’t have been kissing him.” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot your impeccable standards and taste.” Bucky said sarcastically. 

“He was on the football team.” Steve said, in a voice that sounded like he was reminiscing.

“This is so great.” Bucky said back. Steve hit him.

“It is _not_ great. It was so stupid, we were at this stupid party and it just kind of happened? And all our friends walked in and it was mortifying. And now she wants me to come to _another_ one.” Steve said, groaning. 

“This is amazing. You have to go.”

“I am not going. There is literally no way I am going.” Steve said sternly.

“C’mon, I’ll come with you. It’ll be fun.” He said enthusiastically, and Steve glared at him. 

“No.” He told Bucky sternly. 

Bucky was pretty sure Steve was going.

++

Christmas morning, he watched the Rogers open their presents. They were all well-wrapped and Steve’s mom saved all the bows and there was Christmas music playing. 

He tried not to feel awkward, watching someone else’s Christmas, but it was a little difficult.

Steve got a set of charcoal pencils and some markers that looked expensive, a couple sweaters from relatives, and a bunch of candy in his stocking. He was inordinately happy about all of it, which Bucky found cute, and then got mad about finding cute.

Steve’s dad got a watch and his mom got jewelry and they ate Christmas supper at 4 o’clock and thankfully got to skip out on the family parties later that night because Steve said he wasn’t feeling well. (Bucky was pretty sure he was faking, and whether it was for his sake or not, it was appreciated.) 

Instead, they watched A Christmas Story in Steve’s bed and ate the leftover apple pie from dessert out of the dish with forks. 

They had gotten into a pattern now, a pattern where every night they watched something on TV, talked over it loudly, kept talking until they realized the TV was playing infomercials, change into more comfortable t-shirts and fall asleep around each other. Sometimes they whispered in the dark, like they used to when they were kids and couldn’t fall asleep, the little things that popped into their heads before they could shut their brains off. Steve would ask him the actor from Home Alone’s name because it was bugging him, or Bucky would ask Steve if he thought Clint and Nat were sleeping together. But it was nice, those moments. 

Steve was right, it was nice, feeling like they were twelve.

So much of the past week had made Bucky feel so intensely comfortable that he didn’t know how they hadn’t been doing this all along, living out of each other’s pockets and closets.

“Goodnight,” Steve said every night before rolling over closer to Bucky, and every night Bucky would open his mouth to say it back before remembering Steve couldn’t hear him well enough if he whispered.

It was okay, he figured. Steve knew he would say it back.

He fell asleep with Steve’s pulse point draped over his own heart, and he wished it didn’t make him ache.

++

Most nights, they ate dinner with Steve’s parents, and Bucky had never felt more like he was the outsider character on a sitcom about a perfect American family. 

They talked about Steve’s schoolwork and his future and their family and Steve’s dad called Steve “son” and they ate things like meatloaf and mashed potatoes and nice steak and it was nice, but it was all a little bizarre. 

It wasn’t like Bucky was some foster care caricature, he had never really lived in poverty and he always lived with people who cared about him. He wasn’t a poor orphan boy who had never seen a happy family before. But he’d never been quite so swallowed up by this suburban family thing.

Sometimes they asked Bucky about school, about how he’d been, and it was nice of them. He wondered if they’d always been this nice to him, if he misremembered the wariness that he always felt radiating from them. Or maybe he just got older and they didn’t have to be wary of the messed up kid messing up their son anymore.

“Your parents are nice,” Bucky said that night when they were lying in Steve’s bed, neither of them sleeping. 

“Oh. Sorry.” He said when he saw Steve’s arm reach out to grab his hearing aid. 

“It’s okay. I can’t sleep anyway. What were you saying?” Steve said.

“I just said your parents are nice.” Bucky said. Steve laughed quietly.

“Yeah, I like them.” Steve said. Bucky punched his arm lightly.

“Shut up.” Bucky said.

“Make me.” Steve said back. Bucky laughed into his pillow.

“I’m glad I’m here.” Bucky said.

It was quiet for a minute before Steve said, “I’m glad you’re here too, Buck. I missed you being here.”

“I’ve never been in this house.” Bucky said. 

“God, you know what I mean, smartass.” Steve said. 

He took his hearing aid back out and settled back into his bed, turning onto his stomach and moving closer to Bucky. He was warm against Bucky’s side and Bucky sighed in a content sort of way.

The last thing he remembered thinking before falling asleep is that he was going to miss sleeping in this bed.

++

On New Year’s Eve, Bucky accepted that his mission in life was to convince Steve to go to Peggy Carter’s party. 

He didn’t think it would be particularly fun for him, a high school reunion party for a high school he didn’t go to, but the idea of seeing Steve all flustered over something that happened a year ago was entertaining. He wondered if the actual guy was gonna be there, and thought that would be even more entertaining. 

This was something he had to do.

“What’re we doing tonight?” He asked Steve. They were sitting in this diner for lunch, eating greasy burgers with milkshakes, because Steve said he had to try it. He agreed. 

“I don’t know. Drinking, probably.” Steve shrugged. 

“Well, obviously. It’s New Years. I haven’t spent New Years sober since I was fifteen.” Bucky said. Steve snorted.

“Okay, Bucky.” He said, rolling his eyes, but he was grinning.

“So are we just gonna drink alone in your room? That’s boring.” Bucky said. 

“Well, sorry, I’m not as connected to the party scene as I used to be.” Steve said, and Bucky cackled.

“Yeah, I bet you were a huge partier in high school. I bet your inhaler was the star of the show.” Bucky said, smirking.

Steve made an offended noise. “Excuse you. I went to plenty of parties. Sometimes I even skipped school the next day.”

“Oh shit, we’ve got a rebel over here.” Bucky deadpanned, and Steve laughed.

“Also, you did get an invite to a party.” Bucky said, trying to sound offhand. 

Steve didn’t buy it, glaring at him immediately.

“No.” He said.

“It would be fun. I’d defray any and all awkwardness. I’m new, I’d be a novelty.” Bucky said, dipping his french fry in his milkshake.

“First of all, that’s gross.” Steve said, pointing to his french fry. “Second of all, it would still be awkward.” 

“She seemed really happy to see you. Not awkward.” Bucky said, dipping another french fry into his milkshake out of spite. 

“That’s just because she’s nice.” Steve said. “Anyway, drop it, Buck.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky said defensively.

He decided not to drop it later on in the night when Steve realized there wasn’t any alcohol in his house.

“So much for that plan.” Bucky said while Steve continued his fruitless search.

“I could have sworn,” Steve was muttering to himself.

“You know who probably has alcohol?” Bucky said innocently. 

“I swear to god, Bucky Barnes.” Steve said.

“I’m just _saying_.” Bucky said.

“Alright, look.” Steve said, turning around to face Bucky, who was sitting on top of the counter. 

“Yes?” Bucky asked.

“Since New Years isn’t New Years without a little public drunkenness, we’re going to this thing.” Steve said, sounding defeated. Bucky grinned.

“ _But_ , you will not make fun of me in front of the people I went to high school with, you will laugh at my jokes, and you will not let me get wasted.” Steve said, pointing his finger at Bucky. 

“I always laugh at your jokes, Steve. You’re funny.” Bucky said.

“Thank you.” Steve said, still the same authoritative voice he was using to boss Bucky around, and Bucky laughed at him.

At eleven (Steve insisted on being late), Bucky put on clothes without holes in them (Steve also insisted on that), and a beanie. 

Steve was wearing a button-up shirt and jeans and Bucky laughed at him immediately.

“Don’t be mean.” Steve said, frowning. “This is too much, I know. I don’t know, I want to look, like, cool.” 

“You do not look cool right now.” Bucky told him, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yes, thanks, for that. What should I wear then, since you’re such an expert in coolness?” Steve asked.

Bucky rooted through his bag and threw a flannel shirt at Steve, took the beanie off his own head and threw that at Steve too. 

“Put a t-shirt on under the flannel shirt and wear it un-buttoned.” Bucky instructed, and Steve followed orders diligently.

Bucky adjusted the beanie on his head, stood back, and felt proud of himself.

“There you go. Now you look like the hipster art student you were always destined to be.” He said happily.

Steve rolled his eyes but looked pleased with his reflection in the mirror. “Thanks.” 

Bucky put his hair in a bun, and Steve gave him a look.

“Will you leave my hair alone?” He said, shoving Steve gently.

“Will you ever cut it?” Steve countered.

“I’ve been thinking of shaving part of it or something.” He said, shrugging.

“Well, at least that would look cool, instead of like you have a phobia of scissors.” Steve said.

“You’re an asshole.” Bucky said, laughing.

“Takes one to know one, jerk.” Steve said. “Now come on, let’s go to this awful thing.” 

++ 

In Bucky’s opinion, it really wasn’t awful. Peggy’s house was really nice and full of people that Steve went to high school with, who were all at least buzzed by the time they got there. 

It was a fun scene to walk into, people stopping Steve every two seconds to sloppily say hello, Steve muttering to Bucky who they were just before they came over to hug him. 

New Year’s Rockin’ Eve was on in the living room but people were mostly ignoring it since there was still almost an hour till midnight. 

“Alcohol!” Bucky exclaimed happily when he caught sight of one of those Gatorade coolers with the spouts that for some reason everyone who threw parties owned. 

“Alcohol is right.” Steve said, filling them both plastic cups full of something that was bright green and smelled very strong. 

“Bottoms up, Stevie.” Bucky said, knocking his cup against Steve’s in a makeshift toast.

“Buck.” Steve said warningly.

“Sorry.” Bucky said, smiling, before downing his cup. It didn’t taste bad, actually, which probably meant he was going to get drunk very quickly. 

Eventually they found Peggy, and who Bucky assumed were Steve’s closer friends in high school, from the fact that they all jumped up as soon as he came in the room.

“Bucky, this is Peggy - you’ve met - Phil, Sharon, Jane, and Thor.” Steve said, gesturing around the semi-circle to match faces with names. Peggy looked nice, bright red lipstick on. Phil looked kind of nerdy, Sharon was pretty and blonde, Jane was small and brunette, and completely dwarfed by a big blonde dude in a varsity jacket who was obviously her boyfriend and apparently named Thor.

Bucky had been wondering who the guy Steve was so embarrassed over was since they got there, and as soon as he saw Steve blush while saying Thor’s name, he knew. Which, he put together, must have meant that Jane was the girlfriend, and that made sense, since she didn’t look overjoyed to see Steve.

“Hi, I’m Bucky. Old friends, go to college together.” He said, waving cheerfully. 

They all greeted him back, and when they invited Steve and Bucky to sit with them, Bucky immediately sat down next to Thor. Steve’s eyes widened when he realized what Bucky looked so pleased about, and his cheeks got pink again. Still, Steve sat down next to him, looking wary as he downed his second drink. 

“So how’ve you been, Steve?” The blonde girl, Sharon, asked.

“Oh, good. School is good. You’re at Brown, right?” Steve asked her. 

Bucky wanted to laugh because he realized he was sitting with a group of kids who probably aimed for the Ivy Leagues, who never had to worry about being able to afford college. Life was so ridiculous sometimes, he thought.

But he decided to stop listening to that conversation and instead turn to Thor, who had a beer in his hand and looked somewhat like a golden retriever. Steve wasn’t wrong, he was definitely cute. He was built and looked tall even sitting down, his eyes were piercing blue, and he had scruff on his jaw. 

“So Thor, huh? Short for anything?” Bucky asked. 

Thor laughed, kind of unexpectedly booming, before saying, “Nah, hippie parents who were really into mythology. How about Bucky?” 

“Not short for anything, just a nickname.” Bucky shrugged. He didn’t really like to talk about his name.

Thor seemed cool, the more Bucky talked to him. He wondered what events had caused Steve to kiss someone else’s boyfriend, because that seemed like a move that was not usually in his wheelhouse. 

All of Steve’s friends were nice, in that affluent way he tried to avoid, because it was sometimes exhausting listening to people complain about their vacations. He learned that Sharon was also an ex-girlfriend, and Peggy’s cousin too (Bucky was starting to doubt the nice boy image he had of high school Steve in his mind -- apparently there were some stories to be told). And for as much as Steve had been dreading it, the party was pretty benign. Jane glared at him a couple times and Steve kept smiling apologetically, but that was the worst of it. Bucky could tell Steve was enjoying himself, on his fifth drink by the time the countdown started and everyone was watching the ball drop. 

Bucky knew he had promised Steve not to let him get wasted, but he was actually not great at telling how drunk Steve was. He held his alcohol well and was sensible enough that he couldn’t usually distinguish. As they huddled together screaming along to the countdown, though, Bucky could tell he accidentally went bad on his promise.

Steve had a big drunk grin on his face, laughing between the numbers with his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, looking at Bucky all happy and fond and, first and foremost, drunk. 

On 4, Bucky realized they looked like a couple, standing like this.

On 3, Bucky realized that everyone at this party probably thought they were dating.

On 2, Steve stopped smiling at him, looking at him all serious and earnest instead.

And on 1, Steve kissed him. 

The ball dropped and everyone around them was screaming, someone trying to start a chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.” Steve and Bucky were standing in the middle of it all, staring at each other in silence. 

Bucky swallowed hard and Steve opened his mouth to say something but shut it again instead. 

“I gotta get a drink.” Bucky said after a minute, not looking at Steve as he fought through the crowd toward the kitchen. He decided to bypass the punch and instead grab the bottle of vodka sitting on the counter and down two shots without thinking about it. 

After the second, he felt his brain try to make sense of what just happened, and he decided he should stop that, so he took a third one.

For lack of any other way to handle it, he pulled his phone out and texted Clint. Or, at least, he tried to text Clint. 

“Stevr kised me whst dp i. Do” He read it back, decided he didn’t care about the typos, and pressed send. The vodka was catching up with him quickly, and he leaned back against the fridge and put his face in his hands.

“Bucky?” He heard, and he opened his eyes to find Steve in front of him, looking concerned. 

“You’re not allowed to kiss me on New Year’s.” He said before he could stop himself, and Steve looked down at the ground.

“I’m sor-” Steve started, but Bucky cut him off.

“You’re not allowed.” He said again.

“Bucky, I just-” 

“No! You come in here all sad and worried when you’re the one who - you kissed _me_ , that’s so fucked up.” He said, his words coming out without him thinking them through.

“Bucky, I’m sorry.” Steve said, still not looking at him.

“Oh, shut up.” Bucky said, stepping forward into Steve’s space and kissing him. 

Steve made a startled noise but put his hands on Bucky’s hips, leaning into him.

Their chests were flush and Steve tasted like that green punch and Bucky had to stand on his tip-toes and their teeth kept clicking together, and Bucky knew it was fucked up.

But if they were going to be fucked up, he at least wanted it to be on his terms. 

“This is so bad.” Bucky said when he pulled away, his breathing heavy and a lump in his throat.

“Why? Why does it have to be bad?” Steve asked. He looked mad, and like he wasn’t going to just go along with what Bucky said.

“First of all, we’re drunk.” Bucky said impatiently, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m awa-”

“Second of all, the last time we kissed, you left.” Bucky said. 

It was the thing they hadn’t talked about, the thing they didn’t ever talk about, and they were talking about it in a stranger’s kitchen at a party. 

“That’s not fair.” Steve said, voice quiet but his face still angry.

“It is from where I’m standing.” Bucky said back.

“Fuck you.” Steve said, and Bucky laughed without knowing why. That was what he usually did when steve called him an asshole, a jerk, told him to go fuck himself, he laughed. Steve wasn’t joking this time, though.

“This isn’t funny, Buck. None of this is funny. Fuck you, that wasn’t my fault. And it wasn’t my fault we stopped talking, either. Yeah, I was scared. I was scared of us and what happened but you can’t say you weren’t either.” Steve said.

This was the first time Bucky could recall Steve looking this angry at him, and it made his stomach hurt. 

“I’m going back to school tomorrow.” Bucky said, and Steve sighed.

“Yeah, I guess you should.” He said.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky said quietly.

“Me too.” Steve said back.

He threw up in Peggy Carter’s toilet, found someone to drive him to Steve’s house, and slumped onto the couch in front of the Christmas tree as soon as he walked in.

His body felt heavy and his brain felt fuzzy and he was crying, but he wasn’t sure why. He fell asleep worrying about making stains on the Rogers’ couch.

++

He woke up at 10 AM, when the sun came streaming onto him, making his headache even worse.

He winced as he sat up, feeling light-headed and like his mouth was full of cotton. He sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes and resting his face in his hands for a minute.

He got out his phone and found unread texts from Clint (“KISS HIM BACK!!! wait are you drunk”), Natasha (“what happened”), and Tony (a series of thumbs up emojis).

He ignored them and checked the Greyhound schedule instead, bought a ticket for the bus at noon, and sighed again.

He gave himself twenty minutes to be sad on Steve’s couch before he got up and trudged up the stairs to re-pack his bag.

Bucky was expecting Steve to still be asleep, but he was greeted with Steve looking miserable, sitting on his bed.

“Hey.” Bucky said, testing the waters.

“Hey.” Steve said back. He moved over, gesturing for Bucky to sit down, and Bucky did so.

“I’m really sorry about last night.” Bucky said, and Steve nodded.

“Yeah, me too.” Steve said. They sat in quiet for a minute.

“I didn’t mean what I said.” Bucky said.

“You did, and it’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry you feel like that. I didn’t mean to - well. I’m sorry.” Steve said. 

“Stop taking all the apologies, Rogers.” Bucky said, and Steve laughed.

“You’re my best friend, Buck.” Steve said.

“You’re mine, too.” Bucky said back. “I’ll see you next week, right? When you’re back at school?” 

“You’re still leaving?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I think I should.” Bucky said, shrugging. 

Steve turned to him, looked at him enough that Bucky finally turned and looked back.

“What are we doing, Bucky?” Steve asked him, and Bucky sighed.

“I really don’t know.” He said, and Steve nodded.

He packed his bag back up and on the way to the bus station Steve pulled into a Dunkin’ Donuts.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asked him, and Steve said, “You’re hungover, right?”

He ordered Bucky black coffee and an egg sandwich and Bucky opened his mouth to argue but Steve stopped him.

“Just shut up and drink your coffee.” Steve said, smiling in a sad kind of way.

“You’re too good for me, Stevie.” Bucky said, and the worst part was he meant it.

Steve didn’t say anything about the nickname, and the lack of response made Bucky’s stomach hurt again.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Greyhound station, and when he motioned to get out Steve said, “No, wait here, it’s fine.” 

“Okay.” Bucky said, instead of some of the other things he could have. He wanted to tell Steve how good he was, how much better than Bucky he was, but he figured it wouldn’t help.

So instead he just reached out to turn Steve’s stereo on, and the mix CD he had made Steve in October started playing. 

It was mostly indie stuff, and they sat in the car not talking, just listening for half an hour, until Bucky’s bus pulled in.

“I gotta go.” Bucky said, his hand on his backpack strap.

“Yeah.” Steve said, looking over at him.

“Call me when you’re back on campus, alright?” Bucky said as he got out of Steve’s car, and Steve nodded.

“Bye, Steve.” 

“Bye, Buck.” Steve said.

And it felt so final, was the worst part of it. He knew it wasn’t, but that’s how it felt.

After an hour on the bus, he remembered his dorm didn’t open back up for another two days, so he texted Tony.

First, he responded to his thumbs-up emojis with a series of thumbs down emojis.

“bummer” Tony texted back, and at least he could rely on Tony to not ask him about it.

“can I crash on your couch for a couple days?”

“yes” 

With that out of the way, he could resume his real business, which was moping. He thought he was pretty good at it, actually, and was just starting to get real proud of his abilities when he dozed off.

Luckily, his subconscious was just as good as making him feel like shit, because he woke back up half an hour later after a dream about Steve, about sleeping in his bed next to him. 

He groaned loudly to himself and put his head in his hands for the rest of the drive.

++

Tony greeted him with a sympathetic nod, a piece of pizza, and a beer.

“Tony, it’s 4 PM.” He said, but he took the beer anyway.

“So things didn’t work out with wonderboy, huh?” Tony asked, in that faux-insincere way he had.

“Not exactly.” Bucky said, opening the beer and sitting down at Tony’s makeshift table.

“Don’t be rude, Tony.” Bucky heard someone say, and realized Tony’s roommate was home.

He’d met Bruce a few times before, but never knew him that well. Tony always told him that he was too focused on school for his own good, and if _Tony_ was saying that, Bucky could hardly imagine.

But right now Bruce was watching Family Feud on TV and drinking what looked like green tea, so maybe Tony had just been being an asshole for the sake of it.

“How were your holidays?” Bucky asked, because it was January 1st and that’s what you asked people. 

“Fine, the usual. But I’m dying to know what the wonderboy family home was like.” Tony said, smirking.

“Or, you know, maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, since he’s back mysteriously early.” Bruce chimed in. Bucky decided he liked Bruce.

“Stop calling him that.” Bucky said.

“Did they all wear matching cardigans? Did it smell like roasted chestnuts?” Tony asked, still smirking.

“Tony.” Bucky and Bruce said simultaneously.

“Neither of you are any fun.” Tony said.

Bucky spent the day doing all the winter break homework he had been putting off, with Tony making noises over his shoulder at his Calc workbook.

“Are you in any chemistry classes? I could mock you instead.” Bruce offered after Bucky told Tony to leave his calc work alone for the fourteenth time.

He saw Tony’s eyes light up at the prospect and Bucky said no with a great amount of force. 

++

He didn’t sleep well for two nights on Bruce and Tony’s futon, and when the campus opened back up, he didn’t sleep well for a night in his dorm, either.

Bucky had resorted to trying to be productive during the day; doing all of his laundry and dishes and sweeping the floor, finishing homework in advance, and other somewhat foreign activities. 

He still wasn’t sleeping through the whole night, though, no matter what he did during the day. He would wake up in the middle, not sure what he had dreamed about but sure that it wasn’t good, and wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep for hours.

He kept writing this speech in his head, this speech of all the things he wished he’d said to Steve when he could have. Because now it had been a week and if he said them now, it was weird. He had passed the window for the apology he wanted to give, the apology for blaming Steve, and for not calling him back when they were fourteen, and for wanting him too much but still managing to fuck it up when Steve wanted him back. He had missed the deadline for that apology, the one that should have been given in Steve’s car.

It had been a week since he came back to campus now, all kind of blurred together in this neverending spree of housework and careful avoidance of his own thoughts. On the bright side, his dorm room had never been cleaner. 

It was 2 AM and Bucky was laying in bed, trying unsuccessfully to meditate. Bruce had tried to teach him how when he saw the bags under Bucky’s eyes, and it was nice of him, but Bucky didn’t think he was cut out for that sort of thing. Natasha had tried to take him to yoga once, and it didn’t end well for anyone involved. She had been all competent and effortless and he sprained his ankle. 

He was thinking about the complete list of injuries Natasha had caused him when his phone rang. 

Instead of his normal ring tone it was a Selena Gomez song, and Bucky laughed, remembering Steve doing that a month ago so he could call him in public and embarrass him.

He’d never gotten around to changing it back, even after an entire lecture hall heard “Come and Get It” blaring from his backpack.

He answered it before she got to the chorus, seeing “Steve” on the screen and feeling his stomach clench.

“Hello?” He said.

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve said, sounding quiet and serious.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky said back.

“I told you I’d call you when I was back.” Steve said, and Bucky nodded, before remembering he was on the phone.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t.” Steve said. Bucky laughed kind of hollow.

“That’s okay.” He said, and Steve laughed too, the same kind. 

“Can I come over?” Steve asked.

“It’s 2 AM and zero degrees out, Steve.” Bucky said, confused.

“I’ll wear a coat.” Steve said.

“If you die, it’s not my fault. I warned you.” Bucky said, and Steve laughed again, a little more genuine. 

He showed up at Bucky’s door a half hour later, and when Bucky opened it he was covered in snow and looked like shit.

“You look like shit.” Bucky said, closing the door behind Steve.

“So you do.” Steve said. He was just standing in the middle of Bucky’s dorm, not moving to take his coat off or sit down. It was making Bucky nervous.

“I haven’t been able to sleep.” Bucky said, walking back over to his bed and sitting down. He wished he had thought to put pants on, but he figured it was the least awkward part about this anyway.

“Yeah, me either. Without - yeah.” Steve said. _Without you,_ Bucky filled in, and it made his chest tight. 

“When’d you get back to campus?” Bucky asked. Looking at Steve was making him cold, the melted snow making him look wet.

“Yesterday.” Steve said. Bucky didn’t think he’d ever seen Steve so still, standing like a statue like he was. He was a fidgeter, usually, his hands always doing something, but not now.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, and Steve laughed.

“No, not really. I haven’t slept in a week.” Steve said.

“I listened to Taylor Swift.” Bucky admitted, sort of just to make Steve feel better.

It worked, Steve smiled a real smile at him, and he felt the knot that had been in his stomach for a week loosen.

“Can you stand up?” Steve asked him, and Bucky didn’t think to ask why, he just did it.

“I want to kiss you.” Steve told him. Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Yeah?” He asked, looking at Steve nervously. They were standing a foot apart and Steve’s nose was still red from the cold, a blotch of contrast against his pale face.

“Yeah. And I’d like it if it wasn’t fucked up this time.” Steve said.

“I can’t make any promises.” Bucky said. His heart was pounding hard and he couldn’t get any of his thoughts to stay put, especially not the rational ones.

“We could be a real thing.” Steve said, and Bucky swallowed.

“What are we now, imaginary?” Bucky asked. Apparently all he was capable of was smart-ass remarks. Steve didn’t seem phased, though.

“No, we’re running around each other in circles and I don’t understand why.” Steve said. 

“I hate when you do that.” Bucky said.

“Do what?”

“Sound all poignant and smart.” 

“Well, sorry I’m all poignant and smart.” Steve said.

“You’re an asshole.” Bucky said.

“Can I kiss you now?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded.

Steve stepped forward and kissed him, and his coat was getting Bucky’s shirt wet and his snow boots were dripping mud on Bucky’s feet and it was his favorite kiss he’d ever had.

It wasn’t a particularly _good_ kiss, with Steve making him cold and wet and both of their lips too chapped and Bucky feeling more exhausted than he had all week, but it was his favorite. 

He liked Steve’s chapped lips and his wet hair and the fact that if he opened his eyes he would see Steve’s freckles magnified by twenty. He liked everything about Steve, he realized suddenly, and the full force of that almost knocked him over.

Steve pulled back and rested his forehead against Bucky’s with his eyes still closed, and Bucky breathed out even and long, feeling relieved for the first time in forever.

“Hey Steve?” Bucky said quietly a moment later, and Steve opened his eyes to look at him with a concerned expression.

“Can you take your coat off?” He asked, smiling as he said it, and Steve smiled too. He unzipped his bulky coat and kicked off his snow boots, smiling apologetically at Bucky. 

Bucky stepped toward him and kissed him again, because he could now, because it wouldn’t ruin anything. He put his hands on Steve’s thin waist and Steve was holding Bucky’s hair back so it didn’t fall on their faces and Bucky just kept thinking about how nice this was, how Steve tasted like chamomile tea (he bet Sam made it for him to help him sleep) and smelled like his cologne even though it was 2:30 in the morning. 

They pulled away from each other again, and Steve was giving him this look that was so soft it made Bucky wanna look away.

“We should talk.” Bucky said.

“Sleep first.” Steve said, and Bucky felt the weight of his sleepiness hit him again.

“You’re right.” Bucky said, immediately flopping onto his bed, and he heard Steve laugh at him from across the room. 

He looked over and saw Steve unzipping his jeans, blushing when he realized Bucky was looking at him.

“Stop staring at me.” Steve said, throwing his jeans at Bucky.

“No, I like staring at you.” Bucky said, throwing them back. Steve just laughed again, getting into Bucky’s bed next to him. 

He set his glasses and his hearing aid on Bucky’s desk and sprawled himself across Bucky’s bed, his arm and leg over Bucky’s body.

Bucky laughed quietly and he guessed Steve felt it because he looked up and grinned at Bucky, sticking his tongue out like he deserved this.

The truth was he didn’t mind having Steve draped across him like this, he never did, but Steve wouldn’t hear him even if he had the guts to say it. 

++

He woke up with Steve almost completely on top of him, his face pressed into Bucky’s neck and his breath hot against Bucky’s skin, and “Come and Get It” blaring in his ear.

His phone was vibrating next to his head and he scrambled to answer it and make the song stop, jostling Steve in the process.

“Hello?” He croaked, his voice rough from sleep. Next to him, Steve made a noise at being woken up.

“Hey, do you know where Steve is? I woke up and he was gone, and he didn’t answer my texts this morning.” It was Sam, Bucky realized, and he blushed. 

“Um, yeah. He’s here.” Bucky said, a little embarrassed. He felt like he had kept Steve out past his curfew or something.

“Does that mean you two got your shit together? Thank god. Wait, did you just wake up? It’s like three in the afternoon, dude.” Sam said, sounding amused and smug.

“It’s been a rough week.” Bucky said.

“Whatever, man. Congrats.” Sam said, laughing before hanging up on him. 

Steve was fumbling to put his hearing aid in, looking rumpled from sleep.

“What was that?” Steve asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“Sam called, wanted to know where you were.” Bucky said, laying back down against his pillows.

“Oh. Oops.” Steve said, looking sheepish. 

“We slept for twelve hours.” Bucky said, his eyes closed again. 

“In all fairness, we were tired.” Steve said, lying back down next to him and settling his face back into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“This should probably be the part where we talk.” Bucky said, and Steve nodded against him.

“Can we do it here, though? This is comfortable.” Steve said, his breath tickling Bucky’s skin. 

“I’m sorry about New Year’s.” Bucky said.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Me too.” 

“No, I’m really sorry, Steve. About everything, and -” Bucky said, just starting to pick up steam when Steve shushed him, blowing air across Bucky’s neck and making him shiver.

“I know. I do.” Steve said.

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever had, this permanent thing, Steve. And then we kissed and you weren’t permanent anymore, and I know they weren’t related, but. They felt related, to me.” Bucky said quietly.

Steve pushed himself up on his elbows, looked down at Bucky all serious and concerned. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“No, it’s not your fault. Stop apologizing for everything, it’s not your fault. It’s mine, you know? I’ve been carrying this shit around for years and then you showed back up, and it’s like it all - it all came back. And that stupid thing came back where I wanted to kiss you, like, all the time, but I was scared. You were right, I was scared. You were my permanent thing again, I didn’t wanna - I couldn’t lose you again.” Bucky said. He wasn’t looking at Steve because he couldn’t, because it would make him feel like shit, but Steve was looking at him.

“Bucky…” Steve said, and Bucky sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

They didn’t say anything for a minute but then Steve sat up, leaned against Bucky’s headboard.

“You were the first kid my own age that was ever nice to me, you know.” Steve said, smiling. 

“I liked you.” Bucky said honestly. 

“Yeah. Well. It meant a lot to me.” Steve said. “You were the only person who wasn’t either treating me like I was gonna break at any moment, or trying to break me themselves.”

Bucky didn’t know how to respond, so he just sat up too, letting his side press against Steve’s. 

“What I’m trying to say is you were my permanent thing too. You still are. High school was so - I was so fucked up without you, Buck, for a long time.” Steve said, laughing slightly. “I would kiss these girls, because suddenly I was someone who girls wanted to kiss, and I’d think about you. I’d kiss guys and I’d think about you.”

“Thirteen year old me was that good, huh?” Bucky joked, and Steve rolled his eyes, laughing again.

“Shut up. I missed you so much, Bucky. Can I just have you now?” Steve asked. He was smiling but he looked the most serious Bucky had ever seen him look.

“Yeah, Steve. You got me.” Bucky said quietly. He turned to kiss Steve on the cheek but Steve moved, shifting almost into Bucky’s lap. Bucky opened his mouth to say something (he wasn’t sure what, his brain hadn’t gotten that far yet), but Steve just pressed forward, catching Bucky’s lips with his own.

Steve kissed Bucky with all of him, pressed heavy against Bucky’s chest so that Bucky was sure Steve could feel his heart pounding. His hands were on Bucky’s hips, fingers on the fabric of his boxers and making his shirt ruck up. 

Bucky heard himself make a noise when Steve started kissing along his jaw, rough with his teeth, a breathy sound from the back of his throat that he didn’t think he’d ever made before. It sounded like air coming out of a balloon and that was how he felt, like Steve could deflate him.

Steve pulled away, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Don’t make fun of me right now, Rogers. It’d really put a damper on things.” Bucky said, but Steve just kept smirking.

“You’re such a fucking punk sometimes.” Bucky said, and Steve laughed before leaning back in to kiss him, slow and sweet. His hands moved to push Bucky’s shirt up farther and Bucky let him, pulling away from the wall to let Steve pull it off.

Steve pulled back again but he wasn’t smirking anymore, biting his lip instead. He moved backward, sitting on his knees in the middle of Bucky’s bed, and Bucky nodded, sliding so that he was lying down instead of sitting.

Steve bit his lip again before pulling his own t-shirt off and leaning back down over Bucky. He kissed Bucky’s neck, his hands moving up and down Bucky’s sides. He groaned at Steve’s teeth on his neck, and laughed breathily when Steve’s fingers brushed place a place on his side.

“Ticklish,” He muttered, embarrassed.

Steve laughed into his neck. “Forgot, sorry,” He said, his voice muffled.

“S’okay,” Bucky breathed, inhaling quick when Steve’s hands reached his stomach, his fingers skating across Bucky’s skin. 

“Can I -?” Steve asked, his fingers in the waistband of Bucky’s boxers.

“Steve, you can do whatever you want to me.” Bucky said honestly, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Steve properly. 

Steve was flushed, his face pink and his hair messed up. His lips were swollen and he was looking at Bucky with this look that made Bucky want to look away, but he didn’t.

“You’re so gorgeous.” Bucky said instead, and Steve got more red.

“Thanks,” He said quietly, holding Bucky’s eye contact as he pulled off Bucky’s boxers. “So’re you.”

“You know, I’ve had dreams like this.” Bucky said, kicking his boxers off the bed.

“Yeah? How good was I?” Steve asked, smirking again.

“You weren’t nearly as cocky.” Bucky said, and Steve laughed.

“Bad word choice.” He said, before grabbing Bucky’s dick. 

“Fuck you.” Bucky managed through a gasp, his hips rolling immediately, elbows threatening to give out.

But he wanted to see Steve like this, hand wrapped around Bucky’s cock, so he kept himself propped up.

“Fuck,” He muttered when Steve pressed his thumb against his slit, and he finally slid off of his elbows, lying back against his bed. 

He felt Steve’s hand holding down Bucky’s hip after he bucked up again and a faraway part of his brain hoped that Steve would leave bruises. 

That was the last clear thought he formed before he felt Steve mouthing at his hipbone, and he propped himself back up to see Steve glance up at him and smirk again before putting his mouth on Bucky’s dick.

Bucky whimpered weakly when Steve went down farther, the visual paired with the sensation almost too much. It didn’t take much of Steve’s mouth, Steve’s tongue, Steve’s hand on his balls for Bucky to come, his hand reaching out to grip his bedsheets and finding Steve’s free hand instead, his brain fuzzy and overwhelmed.

He felt Steve pull off and get up from the bed and heard him spit into Bucky’s trash can before lying back down next to Bucky.

“Dude, gross.” Bucky muttered, opening his eyes to see Steve looking offended and rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I just had your come in my _mouth_.” Steve said, voice rough.

“Yeah, don’t spit it in my trash can.” Bucky said. 

Steve snorted. “I’ll spit it wherever I want to.” 

Bucky grinned before pulling Steve over to him. 

“C’mere.” He said, sidling up next to him and kissing him.

“Oh.” Bucky said, feeling Steve’s hard-on pressed into his hip insistently.

“Yep.” Steve said in a low voice, moving forward to rub against Bucky’s leg.

“No, stop.” Bucky said, holding Steve’s hip back, and Steve whined.

“Why?” Steve asked, looking so far gone that Bucky felt bad for him.

“I just - you could fuck me, if you. Wanted.” Bucky said, blushing, and Steve blushed too.

He wasn’t a virgin but Steve made him feel like one, the way he looked at Bucky like he was something easily breakable, like he was precious in some way that Bucky didn’t associate with himself.

“Um, I do. I really do. Want that. But just -” Steve said, swallowing.

“Too much?” Bucky asked.

“Too much.” Steve agreed, nodding. 

“Next time.” Bucky said, smirking when Steve swallowed again. “In the meantime.” 

He pushed down the waistband of Steve’s boxers, pulling them the rest of the way down and throwing them across the room before he got his hand on Steve’s dick, stroking slow while he kissed him. 

“Fuck, you’re big, Steve.” Bucky muttered against Steve’s mouth and Steve made a noise that sounded almost like a thank you.

Bucky wanted to go slow, wanted to feel every moment of Steve unraveling beside him. After a few minutes Bucky was resorting to kissing at Steve’s neck while Steve panted and made these wrecked noises next to Bucky’s ear, and after Steve managed, “Fuck, just make me come,” he lost his will to tease. 

He went in fast pumps until he felt Steve stiffen beside him, his nails digging into Bucky’s back, and his come spill over his hand.

Steve leaned into Bucky, his arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck, and he kissed Steve’s temple.

“Here,” Bucky muttered, reaching over to his desk to grab a tissue and wipe them off. 

He threw it in the general direction of his trash can and Steve said weakly, “Dude, gross.”

“Shut up.” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around Steve again.

“Make me.” Steve said, so Bucky kissed him again.

++

Being Steve Rogers’ boyfriend was eerily close to what Bucky’s life was usually like.

Except now, when looking at Steve made his stomach turn over, he got to smile about it. 

Their friends were insufferable, wolf whistling them every time they kissed in public, but Bucky got to smile about that now too.

All in all, he was mostly just smiling more. 

He got to kiss Steve, too, which was a bonus. He got to share a twin bed with Steve most nights of the week because neither of them were good at sleeping alone anymore. Luckily their bodies knew how to fit together, how to share too little space without being uncomfortable.

Steve went to all his games in the spring, and eventually he admitted it was half because he always liked the way Bucky looked in his uniform. Bucky stopped changing out of it right away after that.

For spring break, he tagged along to the Rogers’ family vacation in Florida, and it turned out the Rogers liked him a whole lot more now that he was screwing their son. He guessed they were just glad Steve was happy, and for that matter, so was he. Bucky spent the week shampooing salt water out of his hair and rubbing aloe on Steve’s terrible sun burns, but it was the best vacation he’d ever had.

In May, Steve convinced Bucky to cut his hair, and Natasha threw a party to celebrate the fact. 

They were getting drunk on Natasha’s couch, Bucky talking about the apartment he was renting during the summer, when he sort of accidentally told Steve he could move in with him if he wanted.

“I mean.” Bucky said, swallowing quickly. “Just. There’s probably enough room is all I’m saying, not -- I mean --” 

Steve grinned at him, eyes crinkled. “Calm down, Buck. I...that sounds nice, actually. Me and you.” 

“Yeah, it does.” Bucky said. “I mean, think about it or whatever. If you want.”

“God, Buck, you don’t have to backtrack that hard.” Steve said, still grinning at him. “I’ll think about it.”

Bucky grinned back, and they spent most of the night grinning at each other some more.

At one point, Steve was called to make a toast, to commemorate the loss of Bucky’s hair, and Steve was drunk enough that it was just him yelling and running his hands through Bucky’s (newly shorn) hair.

“There you have it, folks!” Tony yelled, and then he gestured for everyone to take another shot.

Natasha let them crash on her couch, throwing a blanket at them and muttering something about freeloaders.

“I drank too much.” Steve said sadly, whispering into Bucky’s ear, and Bucky giggled.

“That’s okay, you’re cute when you’re drunk.” Bucky said.

“Really?” Steve asked, looking flattered from what Bucky could see in the dark of Natasha’s living room.

“You’re always cute.” Bucky said, and Steve kissed him.

“Can you two tone it down?” Natasha called from the kitchen, and Steve collapsed in giggles on top of Bucky.

In the morning, Steve was slumped over Natasha’s tiny kitchen table, head in his hands. It seemed like Steve had finally met his match, and had one of three hangovers he’d ever had in his life.

“Serves you right, you’ve been bragging about it for months.” Bucky said, rolling his eyes, but he made Steve toast and the kind of tea he liked best, searching through Natasha’s bizarrely huge stock of tea varieties.

“Thank you.” Steve muttered, eating the toast weakly. “Love you.”

Steve looked like he was surprised to hear himself say it, and Bucky laughed.

“Love you too, idiot.” He said, leaning forward to kiss him. 

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, but when they separated he said, “Your breath is terrible.”

“You’re an asshole.” Bucky laughed.

“But you like me anyway.” Steve said.

“I do.” Bucky said back.

++

Steve moved into Bucky’s one-bedroom apartment in June, and it was poorly decorated and the paint in the kitchen was peeling but Steve’s inhaler was in the dresser next to Bucky’s cigarettes (both for emergencies) and Bucky made Steve eggs most mornings and he felt like it was the first home he ever really had.

But that wasn’t right, because Steve was the first home he ever really had. 

“Do you have work today?” Steve asked him in bed, early sun coming in through the slats in the blinds so that they were striped with shadows.

“No.” Bucky said, rolling over so that he was tucked into Steve.

“Good,” Steve said, kissing his forehead, and it was Bucky’s newest favorite thing, everything about this moment.

“You’re such a sap.” He muttered to Steve.

“You’re blushing.” Steve said back.

“Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i like to make playlists to accompany fics but for this particular fic it would have been so self-indulgent that i didn't bother. imagine bucky listening o nothing but the arctic monkeys' "AM" album for like 3 months and steve doing the same with taylor swift's "Red" album, because that's totally how i wrote it (think about steve rogers listening to treacherous and crying! are you thinking about it? thank god). at one point i mention bucky making steve a mix CD full of indie music that i imagine to be sort of like [this mix.](http://8tracks.com/kingschultzies/a-million-miles-away)
> 
> thanks for reading and etc!


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